Malcolm is sorting the clothes he’s dropping off by size. It’s been difficult to find men’s clothes to fit his smaller frame in this place, though the pants he’s wearing now are slightly less too long than his last pair. He’s pale and has a nervous energy to him, putting clothes on hangers and finding places for them. His hair is a little too long for his hair style. A keen eye might spot the persistent psychogenic tremor in his right hand. It’s been hard to keep at bay between the lack of medication and the tendency of this place to pull things.

Still, there’s no menace in his voice as he offers the stranger who’s just walked in “There are some women’s clothes on that side.” He points. Okay, so maybe he’s shopped there a little; the sizes run smaller.